


Auld Lang Syne '79

by VirginiaSlim



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Car Sex, Cheating, Dirty Dancing, Drunk Driving, Drunk Sex, F/M, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Public Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, To Be Continued?, disgusting amounts of disco, joyce gets messy drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirginiaSlim/pseuds/VirginiaSlim
Summary: Joyce and Hopper ring in the decade together at the Hideaway and one thing leads to another...***She reached for his jacket collar and pulled him down towards her, a dangerous, saccharine smile on her lips. She smelled of spiced rum and cinnamon schnapps — almost good enough to eat. It warmed his blood and sent his heart racing as she stood on her tiptoes and drew him in closer.“Joyce,” Hopper warned. “We really shouldn’t be doing this again…”
Relationships: Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone reading who left comments on the first story I posted, thank you. I'm pretty shy about answering when it comes to this genre so please don't be offended if I don't reply. I read them and I appreciate them and I decided to write this one as a follow up to say thank you! Let me know what you think ;-)
> 
> Written on an isolated NYE. It's my love letter to messy relationships and careless, drunken nights out with friends. 
> 
> Enjoy xox

Hopper still wasn’t sure why he’d decided to go. Self-pity? Likely. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the evening in a rowdy crowd, yet there he was, right in the thick of it despite himself.

Since he’d come back to town earlier that year, Hopper had fallen into a deep rut, boozing and partying when he was between shifts -- shifts he could work through with his eyes closed -- and was perfectly content to stay that way for as long as he could. Even though he embraced that lone-wolf lifestyle since returning from New York, the thought of ringing in a new decade alone in his trailer made him feel like he was staring down the empty black hole of his life and far lonelier than usual, so he swallowed what was left of his pride and took up the invite he’d received earlier that week.

It was just past nine by the time Hopper had finished up his shift, went home, cleaned up, and made his way to the bar hidden just off the main street. New Year’s Eve was already in full swing at the Hideaway by the time the Chief of Police walked through the doors.

The Hideaway was the divey-est of dive bars with its small, outdated dance floor in a turn of the century building in dire need of renovations. It drew in the disco crowd being only dance floor in town, while the snooker tables and dart board drew in the barflies. The cheap top shelf and infamous Power Hour ( _“All you can drink!!! 25¢ highballs between 9 and 10!!!”_ ) brought in everyone else. Other bars might’ve come and gone over the years, but everyone knew the Hideaway would always be a fixture in town, that much was certain.

Indeed, half of Hawkins was there that night, and it looked messy for still being so early. The town seemed to be reveling in an excuse to burn off all the pent up energy left over from the last ten years, and the crowd was rowdy. Singing, drinking, shooting pool and darts, blowing noisemakers, and hanging off each other under a thick cloud of smoke. As he moved through the sea of people, he purposely ignored the myriad of drugs being passed around, conveniently turning a blind eye when someone tried to pass him a joint before they realized who it was they were offering it to. Hopper couldn’t blame them. It was looking to be one helluva party and a well-deserved one at that. 

He was a prominent figure in the town now, and it was almost expected for him to shake the usual hands, say hello to a few familiar faces, and the not-so-familiar who were curious about him. He absolutely hated that part of his job, so he was quick about it before he sidled up to the bar.

A young woman with long blonde hair down to her waist in curls that would make Botticelli cream his jeans smiled at him from down the bar. Bright blue eyes beckoned to him to come on over. An out-of-towner for sure — He didn’t know her, but he sure as hell wanted to when she made a point of crossing her legs for him, letting her silk skirt expose the top of her sheer stockings. The Blonde Bombshell watched him watch her with a come-hither smile and he was just about to zero in and make his move when a tiny brunette barricade came crashing between them, blocking his access to the coy young thing and those beautiful come-fuck-me eyes.

“Oh, good! You’re here!” 

Joyce Byers stood on the bar rail and leaned over the counter next to him, her breasts spilling out of the glittery dress she wore as she pressed up against the counter and looked for the bartender down at the far end, waving him over. Then she turned to Hopper and elbowed him.

“Looks like you get to be my ride home because I’m getting _wasted_ tonight,” she said before ordering from the bartender. “Hey, Sam, another round _please-and-thank-you_! And a stiff one for the Chief! Whatever he wants.”

Joyce was the definition of jovial, clearly working hard on three sheets to the wind, juiced up just enough to be her most outgoing self. He’d seen this side of her come out to play on numerous drunken occasions, ever since they tag teamed a bottle of cherry schnapps at her fourteenth birthday. If she could keep it together, Jovial Joyce was always a good time and a bit of a firecracker, too. 

“Gimme Miller Lite.”

“Nuh-uh.” Joyce wagged a finger at her sober companion. “You gotta catch up. Pick something stronger.”

“And you want me to drive you home?” he asked skeptically. 

Joyce nodded, an eyebrow shooting up silently, asking what the problem was there. It wouldn’t be the first time he skirted the laws under his fancy new title, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t get away with it. 

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes. “Get me a whiskey too. CC on the rocks.”

“You heard the man!” Joyce rapped a fist on the sticky counter, throwing a lopsided grin at Sam. “Oh, and make that rum and coke a double, please. Uh, what’s that?” She pointed to the martini Sam was putting together, wrinkling her nose. 

“An olive, I think. And this is the last martini I make for Winnie tonight. I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what her new last name is. You tell that woman this ain’t Studio 54. _I run a_ _dive-bar_. I serve _beer_ and _highballs_. That’s it!”

“Yessir! I’ll relay the message!” Joyce smirked before slapping down a twenty on the bar and told Sam to keep the change with a wink. Her tongue danced for the straw of her double rum and coke, and she took a sip before turning to smile at Hop sweetly.

“I’m glad you made it tonight. I didn’t think you’d show. You sounded kinda bummed out on the phone.”

“Yeah, well. I had to force myself because there’s nothing more pathetic than ringing in a decade at home, alone, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer from her and instead diverted the conversation, steering back toward their usual banter. “Who’re you dressed up as? Cher? No one told me this was a costume contest.”

Joyce slapped his arm playfully, only pretending to be upset by his comment — it was clear she still liked how he teased her; nothing ever really changed there. Her hand lingered on his bicep for a moment as she let him take her in.

“You like?” she asked, flipping her long natural curls over her shoulder as she explained. “Karen took pity on me and played fairy godmother when I went over to drop the boys off and pick her up. She refused to leave until she gave me the Cinderella treatment.”

Hopper looked Joyce up and down. Her makeup was dark and sultry, with a touch of cinnamon crimson on her lips. She was drop-dead gorgeous in a short and slinky disco number covered all-over black sequins, shimmering rainbows under the neon glow. Joyce did a little shimmy for him, not even wobbling in the platform leather heels she also clearly borrowed from Karen’s closet. The dress cut low at her chest, and a double-slit rode high on her thighs, and Hopper bit back the first indecent thought that came to mind and simply nodded instead. It was a bit more — _or less_ — than he was used to seeing Joyce wear out in public, but he liked it. _A lot_. He would’ve told her that too, but she shrugged off his attention like she already knew. 

Hopper smartly changed the subject again. 

“Speaking of the devil. Where is Karen?” 

“Over there, chatting with some of the girls from the Country Club.”

Hopper frowned as if he didn’t hear her right. 

"What are they doing here?”

Joyce rolled her eyes.

"They wanted to go dancing, without their husbands, so they’re ‘slumming’ it with us common folk tonight. Winnie Kline is being more obnoxious than usual, so I skedaddled over here and was loading up the jukebox when I saw you come in. Thank god,” she sighed dramatically and twirled the extra length of gold chain belt around her waist with a smirk. “I was about to go hang myself in the bathroom with this.” 

“Huh. Didn’t think Winnie'd be caught dead here. Larry must be out of town. Ted here too?” Hopper asked, taking a swig off his rye, chasing it with the beer.

“No, he volunteered to stay home to watch the kids for us. You know how he is about parties. Anytime Karen wants to go out, it suddenly becomes ‘ladies night,’ and then she drags me along with her stupid high society friends and then ditches me at the end of the night. I don't know what's worse: that or playing third Wheeler."

Hopper wiped the beer off his mustache with the back of his hand, hiding his own smirk. 

“Now now… play nice.” 

Joyce made a pained expression. “Do I have to? I love Karen. I just don't love her friends. They're so rude and snooty and I have nothing in common with them. Here, just help me bring all these drinks over, and then we can find our own table. _Not_ in the vicinity of Hawkins’ socialite circle.”

“Roger,” Hopper said. 

He followed her down the path she was carving in the crowd to get back to the table, balancing drinks in her hands like an old pro, talent leftover from her days as a carhop down at the drive-in diner. He felt a few pairs of eyes on them as they crossed the room, and a familiar face made eye contact and nodded at him through the crowd, making Hopper pause.

“Lonnie in town?” he asked, just in case, although he knew better.

Lonnie wouldn’t be caught dead in this place. He preferred something even seedier than the Hideaway, if you could believe that. Who knew what kind of deep-dive he was celebrating in tonight, and with who… But Lonnie Byers still had eyes and ears all over Hawkins. Even just being there was flirting with danger for Hopper.

Joyce shook her head as they approached Karen and her gaggle of gal pals sitting at a round table next to the faux fireplace. She spoke to Hopper over her shoulder, reassuring him. 

“Lonnie left this morning on a job for his boss. He’s in Detroit till next weekend.”

Winnie Kline was the first to speak up as they closed in on the table. 

“Ohhhh my my. Ladies… look what the cat dragged in.”

“Have you come here to arrest us, _Chief_?” 

Betty Schroeder offered up her wrists over the table. 

“We’ve been _very_ bad girls…” Winnie winked and giggled in the most unsubtle way. “I think we’ve met before? I’m Larry’s wife, Winifred Kline. But you can call me Winnie.”

“He can call me whatever he wants,” Betty muttered to no one in particular from behind her empty glass, eyeing up the chief of police like he was the hired adult entertainment for the party.

“Hi, Jim,” Karen said, looking uncomfortable and smiling apologetically. “Glad you made it!”

Hopper fought back a grin, amused by all the attention he was getting.

“Oh, look! I have drinks!” Joyce exclaimed, diverting the attention to the table. “Gin Rickey, that’s for you Betty. Tequila sunrise for Karen. And here’s your martini, Winnie. By the way, Sam told me to tell you that it’s a dive bar, not Studio 54,” she warned the other woman with delight. “No more cocktails!” 

Winnie popped the olive into her mouth with a smug little smile before Joyce continued, grabbing her own drink from Hopper’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, and he wasn’t really sure if that was an olive.”

Joyce threw her smile back at Winnie as the other woman spat out whatever it was into a napkin. Then, she blew her dear Karen a kiss before grabbing Hopper’s hand, pulling him through the crowd over to the smoking section across the dancefloor.

“They’re fucking, aren’t they?” Winnie leaned over Betty to ask Karen as soon she thought they were out of earshot.

Karen took a long, strong sip of her drink and watched her two friends wander off. 

“Who the hell knows anymore?”


	2. Chapter 2

After their cigarette, Joyce bounced up to the bar like a little kid running up to the ice cream truck and twirled her finger above her head.

“Another round, Sam. Just us two this time. Winnie’s on her own now.”

Hopper was behind her, baffled at the energy she had after working all day when he felt like miserable shit. As he came up to her at the bar, his hand grazed her lower back to catch her attention, and he tried not to notice when she leaned into his touch. 

He lowered his voice so only she could hear him. 

“Slow down, Speed Racer. What’s the rush?”

Joyce turned enough to move out of his reach, her face darkening just a bit. 

“What? Can’t I have a few?”

Hopper offered a half-shrug. “Sure, I guess? I was planning on taking it easy tonight.”

Her eyebrows shot up. 

“Since when do  _ you _ take it easy?”

He shrugged again under her narrowing gaze and replied smartly. 

“Since I had a long day, and I don’t wanna ring in the new year nursing a hangover.”

Joyce scoffed. 

“That doesn’t sound like you! Are you feeling okay?” She reached up to touch his forehead with her wrist and a slightly concerned look until she felt that he was fine — just being a party pooper, but still unusual for him. “Aw no, Hop! Come on. Don’t leave me hanging here. You’re my good time! I can’t have that if you’re all mopey again.” She frowned.

“I’m having one more,” Hopper said firmly, “and I’m staying until midnight. Then I’m singing some  _ Auld Lang Syne _ and going home. If luck is on my side, I’ll be sleeping by twelve-thirty on the dot. Probably with my hand down my pants, snoring along to the sweet, soothing sounds of Charlie’s Angels reruns on the boob-tube.”

She gave him  _ the look _ . God, he hated that fuckin’ look.

“Please?” Joyce whined. “Don’t be a grumpy old man! Don’t leave me alone on New Years’. Don’t make me listen to the First Lady of Hawkins brag about banging her cabana boy in Aculpulco or her stupid, perfect life again. I don’t think I can take any more. I might have to kill her.” 

She looked pretty damn serious, and if anyone other than Joyce had said it in that tone, he’d be bound by law to take that threat seriously.

“Fine,” he huffed, letting her twist his arm — not that it was that hard to do, especially lately. Solace and momentary comfort could always be found at the bottom of a bottle for Jim Hopper. “Make ’em doubles, Sam,” he resigned, calling out to the end of the bar.

Joyce patted him on the back, grinning ear to ear at his change of heart and joining her on the other side. “Atta boy! I’m proud of you.”

“Gee, thanks,” he replied, puffed his cheeks up in a deep sigh, and wondered what he was getting himself into.

Joyce paid with another twenty and told Sam again to keep the change while Hopper tried not to notice the silver money clip holding her cash together in her purse or think about where it came from — Lonnie’s for sure. He didn’t want to think about how much trouble Joyce would be in if Lonnie ever found out she took his money. 

Or that she was spending New Years’ ’79 with a ‘dear old friend’ instead of her husband. 

Or, she’d been casually fucking around on said husband for the last six months with said friend… and not to mention, having the best sex of her life.

“Grab your drink and let’s go find Benny,” Hopper said, looking for a good, clean distraction for the two of them and finding it in his old pal. “I need to whoop his ass at darts again.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Joyce said, slugging back the last of her old drink and grabbing the new one. Then she winked at him. “I gotta visit the powder room.”

* * *

Joyce returned from the bathroom with even more vigor and pep, bouncing between Karen’s table and the dartboard, keeping an eye on Hopper and Benny playing Cricket. She did that for nearly an hour, flitting about, like a proper social butterfly when someone kicked the rock n’ roll off the jukebox and started playing disco. With their party favors in hand (of the new year’s kind and otherwise), revelers began to pile on the dancefloor. 

At first, Joyce ran off with Karen to dance a little, and she’d glance Hopper’s way every once in a while, trying to wave him over to join them, but he refused again and again. The music was god awful.  _ Disco KISS? Gene Simmons would. _ But even though Hopper loathed it, Joyce couldn’t get enough, and it was captivating to watch her. 

Hopper was trying to school Benny, but he lost his train of thought every time he glanced over at her between shots. 

Dark, loose curls floated around her head as she bounced to the beat of the song, singing along with the ladies in her group. Graceful arms reached up over her head just like a ballerina, elongating her figure as she twisted and twirled around the dancefloor. The dress shifted around her, too, creating a stir. Some of the other men in the bar had noticed, and Hopper watched buddies nudge their friends to get a look. Lonnie might’ve been married to her, but he was a fucking idiot for missing this. 

Joyce wasn’t formally trained, but she loved to dance, and when a good song came on and she had a couple drinks, she could really loosen up and find the beat. The way her lithe body moved made Hopper wonder just how much she bottled up inside over the years and if the old Joyce was still in there after all. As much as she changed over the years, the more she stayed the same; the rambunctious girl he fell in love with was still under the hardened exterior, and this was a glimpse of her and her life without Lonnie. 

Joyce was still relentlessly beckoning Hopper to the dance floor. It felt like she was only dancing for him out there, his own private dancer. Her lustful moves were her siren’s song, but still, Hopper shook his head. He couldn’t trust himself out there with her, not when she was looking about ready to pounce. So, he brushed her off during the Beegees, turned his back to her for ABBA, and resorted to throwing ice to keep her at bay during an overly upbeat MJ song. Finally, the music changed to something a bit more palatable, and she danced over to the dartboard to get him.

“You can’t say no anymore,” she said sternly. “I need my dancing partner.”

He thought he knew what to expect when she took him by the hand: just a dance. Maybe another drink or two… a countdown that led to a stolen kiss at midnight? ( _ Only if she initiated and  _ only _ if they could get away with it. _ ) And that’s all it was at first until someone put that damn Rod Stewart song on the jukebox. He didn’t expect what happened next. 

Hopper didn’t hate the four-on-the-floor beat as much now that the booze had kicked in, and he’d loosened up too. It helped to watch Joyce get whipped up — smiling, singing, and bouncing along to the song and tried to keep up as her hips swayed in perfect time with the beat. But he kept losing his focus. Joyce was entrancing, and she sparkled under the disco ball as she boogied her little heart out, like the world might end right at midnight. She was so close to him now, he could feel her heart beating. He could see the fire in her eyes. He could feel the heat coming off her, and her scent filtered through his senses. And yet, she got closer still. 

Joyce hung off him, practically writhing, letting herself cut loose in a way he’d only ever seen before in private, behind closed doors. Like a tiger released from its cage, she was acting wild, pent up. Ready to pounce. Every eye in the bar must’ve been on them now, but he snuck a quick look around to check, but no one was watching. Or if they were, they didn’t want to let on.

He felt like Ron Jeremy. 

Joyce was grinding upon him, letting the music guide her movements like she was performing his own private lap dance — it was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced. Vaguely aware that her raunchy dance moves were slowly drawing attention across the floor through the growing crowd, he spun them around to face the corner, their backs finally turned to everyone else. It was the only way they could continue unnoticed, his body shielding her from prying eyes. 

There was no doubt — Joyce was the hottest thing in the room, but no one dared approach her. Every single man there knew she was off-limits, but that just made her all the more desirable. Hopper was the only one who dared get this close to such a wild thing.

Between his buzz-on and his growing hard-on, there was a last-second moment of hesitation —  _ this is happening… out in the open —  _ and a pause of panic when he worried they weren’t discreet enough. Someone might see, and knowing Hawkins, it would eventually get back to Lonnie. There was a difference between asking for trouble and directly seeking it out, so Hopper kept his hands off her just in case. That didn’t stop Joyce from getting closer to him, though. Her ass bounced against him, and she wiggled her hips to the music.

That was all it took. Hopper was pushed over the edge and rock hard, and nothing much mattered after that. The room, the crowd, everything else melted away. All he could think about was how he could take her somewhere nearby, somewhere private, and take matters into his own hands.

Talk about asking for trouble… Maybe Hopper’d just have to take her out to his truck parked down the block for some quick and dirty deeds ( _ done dirt cheap. _ )

Joyce giggled, bringing his attention back down to see her facing him again. She was reaching her arms up around him, pulling him down toward her. 

“Why’re you so shy all of a sudden?” she coaxed, murmuring into his ear. “It’s just a dance.”

He looked back to where Lonnie’s buddy had been sitting earlier, but he wasn’t there anymore, and that was the only green light Hopper needed. Knocking back the rest of his beer, he set the bottle down and grabbed her by the hands to pull her in close, wrapping his arms around her tight and getting a good grip on her ass, letting their hips do most of the talking.

She pressed into him — keeping her rhythm despite the obvious bulge in his jeans — and urged him on. Her body spoke volumes: whole, entire novels of everything she wanted to say to him but never could. 

_ Touch me. Want me. Feel me. Tell me you need me. Love me.  _

You could always tell how late it was at the Hideaway by how many people were crowded on the dancefloor, and it must’ve been near midnight now. Suddenly the dance floor was packed, everyone spinning under the mirror ball, disco-dirty dancing. He looked out over the crowded floor one last time, scanning for anyone looking their way and Lonnie’s snitches in particular. Looking through the sea of arms waving, fingers pointed in the air, and the gyrating, sweaty bodies, he didn’t see a single soul who seemed to care. 

He pulled her in closer. 

In their dark corner of the dancefloor, things were really heating up, but besides the occasional jealous side-eye, no one seemed to be paying them any attention as everyone grooved along to the song. It seemed to go on and on — the persistent beat bringing them closer and closer to the edge. The heels she was wearing elevated her up to that perfect height, where all he had to do was lean his head down a bit and tug her dress up… He could have her, right there, if he wanted it. 

Joyce wanted it, too. Maybe even more than he did. 

She kissed him. There was nothing discreet about it. Hopper quickly pulled away and held her by the shoulders, all his second thoughts and hesitation seeping back in.

“Hey. Woah. Are we doing this?  _ Here? _ ”

“Yeah, let’s go. Bathroom.” She licked her lips and tugged at his belt buckle. “Now.”

He stayed put, partly because his blood pressure was skyrocketing from lack of blood flow outside the crotch of his jeans and partly because he wanted to give her an out. 

“You’re drunk, Joyce.”

“Oh, and you’re Mr. Stone Sober? C’mon, I’m not  _ that _ drunk. Just drunk enough to  _ not _ give a fuck anymore. Here, join me,” she grabbed her left-over drink and put it into his hand. “I think it’s time we stopped caring what they all think. Most of them are fucking each other too, ‘cept it’s not nearly as much fun to talk about, right? Buncha hypocrites if you ask me!” 

She raised her voice, but Hopper covered her mouth before she could say another word and walked her around the side of the jukebox, towards the back hall leading to the washrooms where she could rant out of the public view. It’s not that she wasn’t right — everyone in town slept around, especially when the winter came, and there wasn’t much else to do except stay home, lean hard on the bottle, and fight with your old lady. But no fling in Hawkins held a candle to a career criminal’s wife fucking the chief of police —  _ that _ was juicy gossip! And he didn’t need her reminding the town of that fact.

Joyce stuck her tongue out and licked his hand before she shook him off to lead the way to the payphone and cigarette machine at the end of the hall, where they had more privacy. Joyce turned to him, attempting to lower her voice, even though the party muffled most of her words. 

“What was that about?” she hissed. “You’re worried someone will see? Snitch back to Lonnie? He’s off fucking half the Midwest’s farmer’s daughters, and you’re worried about  _ us _ ?”

Hopper’s frown deepened, and he set the empty glass down on top of the payphone above her head. 

“I don’t want any trouble. I just wanted a fun night out with an old friend.”

Joyce’s face softened at his words.

“ _ Old friend? _ Is that really all I am to you, Jim Hopper?” 

She reached for his jacket collar and pulled him down towards her, a dangerous, saccharine smile on her lips. She smelled of spiced rum and cinnamon schnapps — almost good enough to eat. It warmed his blood and sent his heart racing as she stood on her tiptoes and drew him in closer. 

“Joyce,” Hopper warned. “We  _ really _ shouldn’t be doing this again…”

“Oh Hop. One more time won’t do a damn thing when you already know the score, and Lonnie is still batting a thousand on us. I know we shouldn’t… But you seem down lately, and I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said, before quickly adding, “and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to! But I know what’ll take your mind off things for a while. Please let me help — I just wanna cheer you  _ up _ .” 

She said the last word with emphasis and brushed herself against him, raising her eyebrows and flashing him a come-hither look that blew the one he got earlier that night from the blonde stranger out of the water. She twisted the sheepskin collar of his jean jacket around her hand, not about to let him go. 

“What d’ya say? One more, for old time’s sake?”

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Hopper watched her lips as she spoke, and his cock gave him a throbbing reminder; it desperately needed some attention. He rolled his eyes half-heartedly, feeling himself give in. A mixed group of young twenty-somethings rounded the corner, looking for the bathroom and cigarettes, and Hopper’s eyes darted to the nearest escape.

“Here,” he said, moving them to the back door that opened into the empty alley behind the bar. “Out here.” 

“The back alley? You ashamed of me or somethin’?” 

He raised his brows at her impatiently. She looked to the snow falling outside and then to him. Hopper shrugged his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders, escorting her out. 

“Joyce, we’re asking for trouble if someone sees us, you know that,” he said, letting the door slam behind them. “You just pushed the limits out on the dancefloor. We’ll be lucky if that doesn’t get back to him.”

“I told you, I don’t  _ care _ anymore. Let the whole world see! He doesn’t bother hiding it, so why should I? I don’t care.” Joyce shouted it out to the clear night sky, and the sound echoed down the alley, scaring a mangy-looking cat out from one of the dumpsters. “ _ I DON’T CARE! _ ”

“Well I do care.” Hopper sighed. “One of us already has a failed marriage. Remember?”

“Really?” Joyce scoffed. “Do you honestly think I should stay with someone like him? Is that really a marriage worth saving?”

That caught Hopper off guard, and he frowned, unwilling to answer. Not even with a sarcastic comment or wit. 

“He doesn’t love me, you know,” she continued, taking the first step down the alley towards the back, where the shadows would keep them hidden out of sight. Hopper followed several steps behind as she continued. “I don’t even know if he ever really did love me, or if I was just a toy he could play keep-away with, from _ you. _ And truth be told, I guess I never really loved him, ‘neither. Not really, anyway. At least, not as much as…” 

She trailed off and then turned back to Hopper, tilting her head. She didn’t bother to finish that sentence.

“I just don’t want anyone getting hurt,” Hopper repeated after a quiet pause, trying to push the guilt away. “You have a family to think about. I mean, what would the boys think if they ever found out about us?” 

He reached for her in an attempt to reason with her, not wanting a fight, but she pulled away.

“I think they’d care a lot more about their dad running off with the barely legal teenage girls of Roane County more than they would about their mom being happy for once in her goddamned life.” Joyce snapped. “What are you talking about  _ my _ family for, like I’m the only one who has to abide by the moral rules?  _ You _ have a family too. What about Sara…”

Darkness flashed across Hopper’s face for a split second before Joyce could finish questioning him. He tugged her back towards him, gripping her around her waist, kissing her with such force that she stumbled into him on the uneven pavement. Hands slipped across the back of Joyce’s neck and down to her hips as he pulled her into him tight, steadying her in his embrace. Joyce moaned his name between kisses. His hands were roaming, pushing the dress aside to feel her, exposing bare skin to the cold, and then quickly heating it back up with his palms. He walked them backward, slowly, carefully, pressing Joyce into the brick wall, kissing her all over and leaving her breathless. 

“God, we really need to start doing this again,” she mumbled, quickly correcting herself when he withdrew his lips from her neck. “I know what you just said. I know…”

But he wasn’t worried about it anymore. 

“Joyce,” he begged.

She knew what that tone meant. Her hands slipped down between them and moved over Hop’s jeans, eliciting a whimper from him.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice dangerously low, letting him know she would do whatever the answer might be.

His voice was smooth like honey as he told her.

“You know what I like.”

Joyce smirked. He didn’t have to say another word. She swiftly undid his belt and then his fly and pulled his shirt out of the waistband first before pushing his jeans down just enough. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, so she had instant access, and his cock sprung free, bobbing upright in the cold night air. He didn’t seem to mind the chilly temperature as he leaned over her, holding himself up against the brick as she went to work, pressed between him and the wall. Her hands were warm as they slipped over his cock, jerking him off just the way he liked. Hopper thrust wantonly, his breaths coming out in short little puffs, mixing in the frosty air with hers. 

He let out a gasp when she paused to slow down and work his velvet tip with her thumb with one hand and gently massaging his balls with the other. He watched her admire his cock, her delicate hands gliding over his shaft, again and again. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and he almost begged her to wrap them around his dick until he remembered what she was wearing and that it wasn’t very conducive to kneeling in the snowbank. He was incredibly horny now, and just the thought of a Joyce-BJ alone was enough to bring him to the edge, growling low in his chest as she pumped faster.

“Oh yeah, that feels…  _ Fuck-ing. Amazing _ . Oh fuck, yes. Keep going, sweetheart.” 

Hopper leaned down, pushing Joyce’s long dark hair behind her ear, and he nuzzled her neck. One hand pressed against the cold brick kept him steady while his other fondled her under his jacket, over the loose top of the dress, playing with her hard nipples, and he growled again against the soft flesh at her nape.

They could feel the music pounding through the walls, giving them the cover they needed to be as loud as they liked when the music stopped abruptly. Joyce gasped, and Hopper choked back a cry at the sudden silence. Then the crowd in the bar cheered as they called out the time. 

“Ten!”

Hopper grunted as her hands worked their magic. 

“Yeah, honey, just like that.”

_ “Nine, eight, seven…” _

“Holy fuck. Holy  _ fuuuuck _ ,” Hopper moaned, head rocking back as Joyce picked up the pace, stroking his length in time with the countdown going on inside. “ _ HolyfuckJoyce _ .”

She pursed her lips in pleasure, watching his expression change from pure bliss into pure lust.

_ “Six, five, four…” _

He looked into her eyes as he warned her, “Joyce, I’m gonna—“

Three… Two… One.

_ “Happy New Year!”  _ the crowd shouted inside the bar, blowing their noisemakers as the muffled, familiar bars of  _ Auld Lang Syne  _ started to play. A cacophony of fireworks shot off in the distance all across Hawkins.

_ “Joyce!”  _ Her name escaped his lips in a roar and echoed down the alley as she milked the orgasm out of him, spilling his load down her front, all over the pretty sequined dress. 

Once she saw he was fully sated, she released her gentle grip and giggled, her free, clean hand searching his jacket pockets looking helplessly for a tissue. 

“Well shit, now I’m gonna have to get that drycleaned. Thanks.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Hopper moaned, taking over from her and shaking his dick off into the snowbank before putting himself back together.

Joyce wiped at her hand and then the dress in vain with an old hanky from his pocket.

“Feel better?” she asked him without looking up.

“Mmm, much,” he affirmed and lit up a cigarette. He blew the smoke in a steady stream above their heads, sighing in nicotine dreams as he came back down to earth. When Joyce finally gave up on the cum stain, Hopper finished the smoke. Then he grabbed her by the wrist with a distinctly caveman-like growl and started walking to the end of the alley. 

“Let’s go.” 

“Go where?” Joyce pulled back. “Wait, my jacket’s inside.”

“We’ll get it tomorrow when we come back for your car.” Hopper shook his head with a smirk. “I owe you an orgasm or two for that one, and it ain’t gonna wait.”

Joyce couldn’t argue with his logic. Feeling weak in the knees, she let him lead her through the slush and snow towards the Chevy parked down the street. Hopper opened the passenger door for her, helped her up into the cab before he hopped in the driver’s seat, and turned the engine over. Then he gave his full attention back to her as they waited for the truck to warm up.

“Happy New Year,” Joyce said, leaning forward with a lingering peck and wistful smile. Her soft lips pressed against his, and for that one, brief moment between decades, nothing else mattered to Hopper but her. Right then and there. 

As they parted, he broke into a slow smile.

“Happy New Year,” he kissed the tip of her nose, thankful for her stubborn, persistent ways. Relief washed over him as the melancholy seemed to melt away, even temporarily.

Hopper put the truck into drive and pushed the cassette in the tape deck. It was something slow by Seger in perfect contrast to everything else they’d heard that night. They cruised the cold and empty streets of Hawkins in his truck, taking their time, making their way towards his place on the outskirts of town. As he drove, he let his free hand wander over the bench seat to Joyce, squeezed her thigh, as it slipped up, up under the dress to play with silken panties and the warm wet pooling there, pressing all the right buttons, sight unseen. Leaning back against the frosty window, Joyce was staring at him in the darkness. He’d never seen her look at him like that before. It was feral.

“Fuck me,” she moaned. 

Her slim legs fell open on the seat, giving him quite the view under the strobe of yellow street lamps, and he struggled to keep his attention on the road as she gave him an all access pass, guiding his hand to touch her. 

Just as they approached town limits, he brought her to a sudden, powerful orgasm, and he had to force himself to concentrate on keeping them between the white lines as she cried out. Her tight pussy pulsed around his thick fingers, and she came hard, shaking, soaking his hand and the fabric of the seat. It was unusual for her in that position, and she pressed desperately against the heel of his hand, mewling for more, riding out the waves of pleasure for as long as she could. 

He couldn’t think straight, could barely see straight. 

By the time they pulled into his driveway on the private lane headed towards the lake, he was rock hard again, aching in anticipation of what he wanted to do to her. Any morals left had been lost in the alley behind the bar, and he was ready for another round. 

_ Just one _ , Hopper told himself,  _ for old time’s sake. _


End file.
